


Pie Crusts

by TheManicMagician



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Flowey has some issues to work out, Gen, Handplates, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Papyrus just wants to be friends, handplates AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 08:10:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13383729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheManicMagician/pseuds/TheManicMagician
Summary: Asriel, brought back to life as a flower by some miracle, journeys across the Underground to reunite with his mother. Only to find that he and Chara have been replaced by two skeleton children.





	Pie Crusts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaliawai512](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaliawai512/gifts).



> My gift for the Undertale Secret Santa for 2017 :)
> 
> Some history is fudged in this. This is set in the handplates AU, where the boys escape and Toriel takes them in. Gaster is still alive; he and Alphys created Flowey together.

Asriel emerges from the ground with a burst of soil. He shudders, hugging his leaves around his stem. The motion doesn’t warm him, not like it did when he had actual arms, but it soothes him nonetheless. It’s taken weeks to tunnel through the tough permafrost of Snowdin to reach the old ruins of Home, but he’s finally here. He’s _home_.

Large, gleaming spikes sprout up from the ground before him. Asriel recognizes the old puzzle. His Mom and Dad hadn’t lived in Home since before he was born, but they brought him along whenever they had reason to travel to Snowdin, and the royal family would lodge in their old castle. Not too far from this puzzle is the flowerbed where he’d first met Chara.

Asriel burrows back under the soil, past the puzzles and towards the castle. If he thinks too long on his sibling, the maw of grief threatens to consume him once more.

He’s remembered the layout of Home well; he resurfaces near the front steps of the castle. Mom must be inside. He has wondered for weeks what she’ll be doing when he knocks on the door. Knitting? Cooking? Maybe reading her snail books. Then, her delighted surprise at his return. Her warm embrace.

In the front yard, there’s movement in the pile of leaves beneath a dead tree. Scattered laughter. A familiar lime and cream striped shirt. It had been handstitched by Mom—she made all their clothes by hand. Though the royal tailors could have easily made their clothing, she preferred a more personal touch. Chara had timidly picked out the colors herself, hands fisted in Mom’s sleeve as she nodded at the colors she liked. Pale yellow like the flowers she loved, soft green to match Asriel’s favorite shirt. Mom had knit her several, and she wore them constantly.

“Chara!” Asriel is by her in an instant, rising past dead leaves.

Except…

A young skeleton monster pops out of the pile of leaves, and a second follows suit. The first curious, the other, wary. The short one is wearing one of Asriel’s old shirts, and the tall one is dressed in _Chara’s sweater_ —

“Thieves!” Asriel snarls. The skeleton flinches back, balking at the venom in his voice.

Asriel calls up a fireball of magic, but a flurry of pellets rise up instead. How dare they. How dare these skeletons parade around in clothing that wasn’t theirs to take.

The short skeleton cuts in front of the other. He raises his hand, and a large canine skull appears above him. Its maw cracks open, and Asriel’s magic pellets are incinerated in one powerful blast.

The bizarre, ferocious attack then angles downward, pointing directly at Asriel. He braces for the onslaught, preparing another swarm of bullets.

“No, brother. Stop it!” The taller one grabs the other’s arm, tugging him back. “You’ve done enough.”

“Papyrus—”

“My children, what was that noise?”

Asriel flinches back instinctively at Mom’s no-nonsense, you’re-in-trouble-now-mister, tone. His magic shrivels out to nothing. The skeleton’s magic dissolves, too, as Mom walks up to the three of them, hands on her hips.

“What is going on here?” She rounds on Asriel. “Who are you?”

She’d called them her children, these skeleton brothers. They hadn’t broken into the castle; Mom—Toriel had willingly clothed them in her actual children’s clothes.

They’d been replaced.

The skeleton who attacked him is still shaking with the adrenaline of the fight. Eyes flickering violet and yellow. The taller skeleton embraces him, running a soothing hand back and forth over his skull. He murmurs: “Calm down, brother. The flower didn’t hurt anyone. I’m fine. You’re fine.”

This isn’t how he’d planned it. Instead of joy, his mother looks at him with suspicion, no, _disdain_ , because he might have hurt her _new_ children.

Asriel makes a soft, wounded noise, and slips beneath the soil.

~*~

He has nowhere else to go.

Dad had been the one to find him, watering can falling from his paws as one of his golden flowers moved and spoke. Asriel had explained everything he remembered—bringing Chara to see the flowers from her village, the humans attacking, staggering back to the castle bloodied and already dusting. Then suddenly, he was here. And Dad, he’d frowned at that. Put Asriel in a pot like a common houseplant, and brought him to the Lab, where the creepy, stern royal scientist and his bumbling assistant had poked and prodded him with test after test.

The royal scientist had killed him.

He knows, because one moment he’d been put through another bought of determination, and the next he was back in the king’s throne room, the watering can falling from Asgore’s hands. His Dad’s negligence, his faith in the royal scientist, had killed his son. Before his Dad could ask him who he was, again, Asriel vanished under the soil, leaving his Dad to wonder if the moving flower had been a figment of his imagination, a byproduct of his tired mind.

He learned that Mom had left after Dad declared war on all humans. No one could find her, but Asriel had nothing but time. He dug his way through every inch of the Underground, wormed through every crack and crevice, and finally, he found her. Only to discover that she’d replaced him and Chara with new children, like they _hadn’t even mattered._

Asriel hasn’t felt much of anything since he got this new body, but he knows he _should_ be sad; and so, hot tears sting his eyes. He’d run all the way to the other side of the Underground, and there’s nowhere else for him to go.

He retreated to the bed of flowers where he first found his sibling, where their cage is cracked open just enough to see a sliver of the Surface. The sun is pleasant on his petals.

Asriel just wants to sit among the flowers and let it all stop. Chara is gone, and his parents no longer care. He was brought back to life miraculously, but for no purpose. Maybe, if he sits still long enough, he will become a simple flower again, blending in with the bed. Asriel closes his eyes. This is where Chara had come to escape, and where he would, too.

~*~

His solitude did not last very long.

“Hello! Mr. Flower!”

Asriel reluctantly opens his eyes again to glare at the figure advancing toward him with a wave.

The tall skeleton tromps through the patch to him, carrying a picnic basket on his arm. He’s wearing robes today, purple and white. He’s not wearing Chara’s sweater. It gives Asriel the faintest wave of relief.

“What do you want?” Asriel hisses.  

“I wanted to speak with you! Now is a good time, right?” Papyrus looks down at the flowers he’s standing in. “Oh, no. I didn’t think—here I am, extending an olive branch, while I step on your kind!”

“I don’t care. They’re just flowers.”

“You’re a flower, too!” Like he needs to be _reminded._

The skeleton backs away, and sits down cross-legged before the edge of the flowers.

“Won’t you come over here?” He gestures in front of him. Asriel acquiesces, to get this over with so the stupid skeleton can leave him alone. The skeleton beams at him, smile brighter than the sun. “I brought you something, to apologize for our first meeting.”

The skeleton opens up the basket. He sets a red gingham blanket on the ground, and brings out a plate of pie and silverware. A pang runs through Asriel. The plate is faded with age. Dull golden flowers wreath around its circumference. Chara hadn’t felt like part of their family at first, hadn’t felt deserving. Toriel brought her to the market and they got a new set of dishes. Four place settings, sets of plates, bowls, and glasses. One of the many little things Mom had done to ease Chara into the family.

“I baked it myself!” The skeleton explains the pie. “It’s my first attempt without Miss Toriel’s help. I thought we could try it together!”

Memories of Chara and him in the kitchen, rolling dough. Preparing pie for their father with those buttercups.

Asriel wraps a vine around a fork. “If I eat this, will you leave?”

The skeleton slumps, but rallies again. “If that’s what you want, yes. But I really was hoping that we…could be friends?”

“Where’s the other one?” Asriel asks a question in lieu of answering him. He searches the clearing. The second skeleton might be waiting to ambush him the moment he drops his guard, to finish what he started.

“You mean Sans? He, um,” The skeleton fidgets. “He doesn’t know I came out here. He’s still wound up. I know he overreacted, and I’m sorry he did. But he’s really nice once you get to know him!”

“Sure he is.”

Asriel cuts of a bit of pie and shoves it in his mouth. Disgust wells within him and he spits the offensive bit of food back out on the plate.

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you trying to _poison_ me?” Asriel glares down at the pie slice. “The fruit is overripe and the crust is way too dry and hard!” Part of him had actually been looking forward to the pie. The crusts were his favorite.

The skeleton looks like he might cry. “I’m sorry. Miss Toriel said that most beginners usually make the crust too soft and doughy, so I thought if I left it in extra long—”

“Well you were wrong. Idiot.” Asriel scrapes his tongue with a vine. He’s never going to get that taste out, he knows it.

“I’ll just…I’ll do better next time!” The skeleton recovers. “I’ll bring you a new pie. You’ll see, Mr. Flower! It’ll be great!”

“That’s not my name.”

“Oh, right! We never properly introduced ourselves.” The skeleton holds out his hand. His palm is covered in a white wrap. “I’m Papyrus!”

He extends a vine. Papyrus’ handshake is surprisingly gentle, not the rough, enthusiastic shake he expected.

“I’m…” He pauses. He’s not really Asriel, not anymore. He isn’t sure he wants to be. “I don’t have a name.”

“That’s terrible.” Papyrus’ eyelights shine with sympathy. “But do not fret. I, the Great Papyrus, shall find you a name most suitable!”

“…Whatever.” Let Papyrus call him what he wanted. He didn’t care. “What’s wrong with your hand?”

Papyrus tucks the appendage close to his chest, defensively.

“Nothing’s wrong with it, it’s just.” A flicker of unease passes over Papyrus’ face. “Sans says I’m not supposed to tell anyone.”

“Oh, come on. What’s a secret or two between _friends_?”

Papyrus’s eyes light up. “F-Friends?! You mean it?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

Papyrus postures. “O-Of course, I’m not surprised at all. Naturally, you’d be drawn to my awesome, magnetic presence.”

“So? The bandage?” He steers Papyrus back on track.

“Right.” Papyrus’ other hand toys with the edge of the medical wrap. “You really can’t tell anyone about this, okay? Not even Miss Toriel.”

Papyrus undoes the wrap, and spools it neatly before putting it aside and lifting his hand for him to look. A large metal plate has been bolted to his palm with screws. WDG-2 P printed on the metal.

“Does Sans have one of these too?”

Papyrus tugs his hand away and hastily rewraps it. He doesn’t respond, but his nervousness is answer enough.

“I’ll be back tomorrow.” Papyrus announces, as he packs everything away again in the picnic basket. “Good-bye!”

Papyrus hurries off, but is sure to wave at him before he’s out of sight of the clearing.

He mulls it over what he’s seen. The metal plate cruelly drilled into the skeleton’s hand. He can imagine the pain of it. The brother—Sans—has a plate, too. And his reaction to a threat was powerful combative magic a skeleton would have few reasons to master so young. And the letters on the plate—P for Papyrus? So then, the WDG-2. WDG. That’s familiar, somehow.

The pieces of the puzzle slot into place. WDG. Wingdings Gaster, the royal scientist who had killed him. He had evidently done something to these brothers, too. And Asriel’s going to find out what.

~*~

Sure enough, Papyrus returns to the clearing, carrying the picnic basket again. Unexpectedly, his brother is with him.

He draws back, hollowing out the ground beneath him, preparing to dive under if he has to.

Sans smirks at him. “Hello, weed.”

“Sans! You know that’s not the name we agreed on.” Papyrus scolds. “His name is Flowery!”

“Flowery” winces. Papyrus notices.

“Do you not like it?”

“It’s a bit…clunky.”

Sans frowns darkly, but Papyrus is undeterred. “That’s okay! You have to like your name, after all. How about Flowey, instead?”

That isn’t much different. Still, it’s marginally better than Flowery.

“That’s fine.” Flowey says. Flowey the flower. What a name.

“Great!” Papyrus chirps. He sets up the picnic again, revealing three slices of pie. “I took your advice into consideration when I made this one. I hope you like it!”

Sans plops down next to his brother, and tastes his own piece. “’s really good, bro.”

Could he have improved so much with a second try? Flowey doubts it. He cuts off a small piece and swallows.

Papyrus is watching him expectantly. Sans, warningly.

“It’s…better than yesterday.” Flowey manages. It’s true. But not by much. The pie isn’t as charred, and the fruit is fresher, but it has a weird, lumpy quality to it. Again, he doesn’t try the crust. The small bite is enough.

“What can I improve?” Papyrus clicks on a pen and flips open a fresh page on a tiny notebook.

Flowey eyes Sans, but he says nothing as Flowey instructs Papyrus on his own methods on how to cook a pie. Papyrus jots everything down, his pen moving like lightning across the notepad until Flowey is finished.

Papyrus snaps his notebook shut triumphantly. “Thank you, friend! The Great Papyrus will not stop until he has become a master pie chef. A craftsman of culinary delights!”

“Your cooking is already ins-PIE-red, bro.”

Papyrus looks over at Sans, sly.

“Well, what do you expect? I’m the Great Pa- _Pie_ -rus! Nyeh heh heh!” Papyrus laughs, shoving his brother playfully.

Sans mocks wiping a tear from his eye. “You’re killin’ me here, bro, that’s beautiful.”

The siblings goofing off together makes something ugly rise in Flowey.

“Well, I’ve tried your pie and told you what’s wrong with it. You can leave now.” Flowey snaps.

Sans’ eye sockets narrow.

“Nonsense!” Says Papyrus, undeterred. “I have brought something else for you!”

He places down a roll of parchment and spreads it out, pinning it flat with some pebbles.

“I noticed there wasn’t much to do around here, so I made you a puzzle! You don’t want your brain going to mush, do you?”

It’s a maze, exceedingly elaborate. The outline of the maze is a skull, wearing sunglasses.

“You drew this?” He’s actually impressed. He can’t fathom making something so intricate.

Papyrus puffs up with pride. “Well, Sans helped a little. He’s the one that said sunglasses would be a cool finishing touch!” His eyes widen, and he abruptly stands up. “Oh no! I forgot to bring a writing implement! You can’t complete my exceedingly clever maze without a writing utensil!”

“You go on, bro.” Sans’ gaze returns to Flowey. “I’ll stay here with our little friend.”

“W-Wait, Papyrus—”

“I’ll be back!” He yells, already racing out of the clearing for home.

Leaving Flowey alone with Sans.

The lights in Sans’ eyes extinguish. Flowey leans back as Sans looms over him.

“Are we gonna have any problems here, bud?”

Flowey bristles. Like hell he’s going to let himself be intimidated by a bag of bones. Especially not one that makes dumb jokes.

“We won’t as long as you don’t get in my way.”

“You got a problem with me, I get it. But you knock so much as one hit point off of Papyrus’ total, well. I know where Toriel keeps her herbicide.”

Flowey gulps.

He knows Sans’ threat is empty in the long run—even if he managed to beat Flowey, he’d just reset again—but still. In the moment, he feels a thrill of danger.

“There’s one other thing I gotta say.” Sans says, the pale lights returning to his eyes. “And that’s thanks.”

“What?” Flowey hadn’t expected that, at all.

Sans sighs, looking off into some fixed point in this distance. “My bro’s real cool. Too cool for a lot of people. He’s tried to make friends here before, and they just didn’t get him. Capiche?”

Flowey nods. The fact that Papyrus immediately befriended the monster who tried to shred him to pieces screams pretty desperate.

“So you better be good to him. Got it? He deserves it.”

“Or else, let me guess, you’ll make me into fertilizer,” Flowey adds, dryly. “Or press me into a book.”

“You’re catching on, weed.”

Flowey grinds his teeth. Sans is lucky Papyrus is so sickeningly sweet. He’s probably the only one who could put up with such relentless mother henning.

“I’m back!” Papyrus announces, waving the pen aloft. He’s barely winded despite his run to the castle and back.

Flowey starts working at the maze. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Sans remove his hand from his pocket to scratch the side of his skull. The same wrap covers his palm as Papyrus’. As Flowey suspected, Sans has a metal plate to match his brother’s.

~*~

The brothers don’t visit every day, but often enough that Flowey doesn’t get too bored. Papyrus’ pie-making improves at a snail’s pace, but improvement is still improvement, however slow.

Today it’s just Papyrus and Flowey spending the afternoon together, Sans pulled away from playing to go with Toriel to the market. Flowey has led his friend companion to one of the older puzzles, off the standard path. It’s a color tile puzzle, which has fallen into disrepair after decades of neglect.

Papyrus works on one of the tiles, jammed in its hole at an angle. He brought along a tool kit from the castle, and works on wedging a crowbar in the thin crack between the tile and its casing. Flowey sits nearby, content to listen to Papyrus chatter on about the interesting shiny rock he’d found the other day, the muffin recipe Toriel was teaching him, and the small dog that snuck into the castle and pestered him at night with its cold feet.

It’s a relaxing, peaceful moment. Flowey’s eyes slip shut, and he’s halfway to dozing when he hears a sharp _zap_ and a pained whimper.

“What happened?” Flowey demands.

Papyrus is clasping his hand close to his chest. There’s exposed circuity at his feet, a current of still-active lightning magic running through.

“It’s okay,” Papyrus assures him, his face somewhere between a grimace and a smile. “I just didn’t expect it. It startled me more than anything.”

Flowey runs a quick check over him, not because he can’t deal with Sans (he can) or because he cares about Papyrus (he doesn’t) but if the skeleton is seriously hurt it’ll be a real inconvenience, is all. Papyrus was telling the truth; only 20 HP was knocked off of his sizable health cap. But still…

“It’s not sore, or anything?” Any normal kid would be bawling their eyes out.

“Really, I appreciate your concern, but I’ve had worse!” Papyrus freezes up, realizing what he’s said.

_“I’ve had worse, Azzy,” Chara whispered, voice soft and thready. Asriel wrapped his paws around the cuts on her wrist, white fur soaked red._

“Worse, huh?” Flowey starts, darkly. “And that wouldn’t happen to have something to do with the plate on your hand?”

“Flowey, I don’t want to talk about—”

“And the person who hurt you,” Flowey barrels on. “Their name wouldn’t happen to be Wingdings Gaster, would it?”

Papyrus flinches back, his eye lights a vivid violet. Just the name evokes such a strong response.

Flowey’s not an idiot. He gets the picture. The royal scientist messed around with them like he messed around with him. Maybe they were his sons—he didn’t know any other skeletons besides these three—and instead of cherishing them he ruined their lives.

But still. So what if their father was horrible. So what if he sees shades of his sibling in them. They didn’t have to go around stealing someone else’s _Mom_.

Flowey doesn’t know if he wants to strike Papyrus or hug him, so instead he buries himself beneath the soil to return to his flowerbed.

~*~

“Flowey? Are you here?”

He’s nestled himself deep in the flowers, intertwining his roots with the others. With his eyes closed and mouth shut, he’s nearly indistinguishable from the rest. He knew Papyrus would be back. He doesn’t feel like talking.

“Well, if you are here…I made a new pie! I’ll just, I’ll leave it right here for you. And you can let me know what you think.”

There’s some rustling of fabric as the pie slice is set out on a plate. The scuff of shoes over dirt.

“I don’t know what I did wrong, but I’m sorry.” Papyrus’ voice is soft. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”

Flowey doesn’t make a move for the pie all day.

The following morning he hears footsteps approach. Too early for even Papyrus, and the patter doesn’t match his enthusiastic jog. Flowey risks a peek over. A small white dog trots over to the plate and digs in eagerly.

“No! Stupid dog!” Flowey flings out a scattering of bullets.

(That pie was _his_.) Now Papyrus would think he ate the pie, think that he cared, and he does. Not. Care.

The dog grabs the rest of the slice between its teeth and it trots off, dodging Flowey’s attacks like they’re an afterthought.

Stupid dog. They’re all idiots, including Papyrus. Latching onto anyone who showed him a scrap of affection.

Flowey moves over to the plate. Nothing but crumbs left.

His vines wind over the plate and pick it up.

~*~

Flowey knocks twice on the front door of the castle.

There’s shuffling on the other side of the door before it’s opened. His breath catches as Toriel steps out of the castle. She looks around the empty porch, brows furrowing.

“Hello?”

Flowey gives a lame wave from the bottom of the steps, where the soil ends.

“Ah.” Toriel comes down the steps and crouches before him. “Papyrus has told me much about you, young one.”

Of course he has.

Toriel takes the plate from Flowey with care. “Thank you for returning this. It is dear to me.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Flowey mutters. He’s ready to burrow back under the soil, but Toriel speaks up again.

“I must also apologize for how I acted when we first met. My children tell me it was a misunderstanding.” She gestures to the open door. “Would you like to come inside? You’re just in time for dessert.”

“I…” Flowey looks down. Leaving his roots exposed and free of soil makes him sick.

Her eyes alight with understanding. “Just a moment.” She disappears into the house and returns with a pot and trowel. “I hope this isn’t an offensive mode of transport for you.”

“Whatever.” Flowey grumbles.

Toriel fills the pot halfway with dirt, before Flowey climbs inside. He feels cramped, stifled. But it’s fine for the short term. Toriel covers over his roots, packing in the dirt with care.

She still wears the same rosewater perfume. She always put two dabs of it behind her ears, not enough to be cloying, but enough to linger.

“Are you alright, my child?”

Flowey can’t look at her.

“Your petals have drooped. I can return you to the ground—”

“No. It’s fine.” Flowey straightens.

“Very well then. Do let me know if at any time you’d like to return.”

Toriel lifts him securely and carries him into the castle. The pleasant smells of butterscotch and cinnamon waft through the home.

“Who was at the door?” Papyrus’ excited shout is punctuated by his footfalls as he runs in from the kitchen. He’s wearing a chef apron atop his robe. The apron and his skull are caked in flour. His eyes widen as he spots “F-Flowey?”

“Ain’t this a surprise.”

Flowey jumps, nearly leaping out of the pot because  _when did Sans get here_.

Papyrus shoots his brother a look before grinning at Flowey.

“W-Well, I know why you’re here, of course. I am not surprised or flattered at all. It is obvious that no one can resist Papyrus’ inherent charm!”

“Dear, don’t forget your pie.” Toriel reminds him, gently.

“Right!” Papyrus dashes off.

Sans hasn’t looked away from him once. If looks could kill, Flowey would already be eviscerated by his glower.

Toriel sets Flowey on the table.

“He is our guest, Sans. Be nice.” She reminds him.

Toriel sets a stack of books on one of the dining chairs, and puts Flowey atop the stack so he’s less a centerpiece and more part of the family a guest.

Toriel helps Papyrus bring out the pie. The child eagerly cuts slices for all of them and divvies them out.

Flowey takes a tentative bite. He can taste the care Papyrus put into the pie, but his enthusiasm is tempered by Toriel’s restraint. Her affinity for fire magic flows through the food, and a pleasant warmth spreads through Flowey, from his petals to the tips of his roots. He cuts off the crust and pops it into his mouth. He closes his eyes, and for a moment it’s like nothing had ever changed.

“It’s…It’s good.” Flowey croaks, recovering. Papyrus beams a thousand-watt smile.

Toriel is watching him, a fond, bittersweet smile playing on her face.

“What?” Flowey snaps.

“Nothing, my child.” She shakes her head. “It’s just, you remind me of someone very dear to me. The crusts were his favorite, too.”


End file.
